


Of Easy Virtue

by The_Queen_In_The_North



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blood, Brothels, Dirty Talk, F/M, Loss of Virginity, One Shot, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_In_The_North/pseuds/The_Queen_In_The_North
Summary: On the eve of her wedding to the king, Sansa Stark visits a brothel to lay with another man.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 206





	Of Easy Virtue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlitterGoth114](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterGoth114/gifts).



> So yeah. This is just more SanSan porn. 
> 
> GlitterGoth114, a gift for you after our little conversation about Titanic on that "Northbound" chapter ❤️  
>  _"I'd rather be his whore than your wife."_

“He won’t notice, m’lady,” Shae whispered, as she cinched the beaded belt around Sansa’s waist. “The room is dark, and Chataya said he never visits while sober. Her girls say he doesn’t even speak to them, so you don’t need to worry about him recognizing your voice.” She reached into Sansa’s jade flowing silks and adjusted her breasts, eliciting a small gasp. “Now, go in and fuck him.”

 _I never thought I’d be a woman of easy virtue,_ Sansa thought, as she stared at the closed door in front of her. _But neither did I think I’d desire Sandor Clegane._

Her breath grew thin and ragged, reconsidering the risk she was taking. If her betrothed found out, or his mother, what would they do? 

_Perhaps they would not execute me, for I’m to be the king’s wife, but they most certainly would execute the Hound._ Sansa shuddered. How could she have let her unconventional maid talk her into such madness? But that wasn’t fair of her to think. _Shae is the only one, besides Tyrion and Sandor, who has shown me kindness during my entrapment in King’s Landing. And that’s what this is: a kindness._

Sansa moistened her dry lips and reached out for the bronze handle. Before she would open the door, she looked once more at Shae, discovering her wicked smile, and quickly dropped her hand.

“Oh gods, I can’t do it,” she whispered. Sansa was breathing so heavily, she thought one of her breasts would spill right out of her skimpy dress. “He’s drunk, it’s not right…”

Her maid placed her hands on either side of Sansa’s face, almost seductively. “M’lady, you will wed the king on the morrow, and then you’ll share a bed with him each and every night. This is your only chance to lay with the one you desire.” Shae’s dark eyes were fixed on her own. “He _is_ drunk, but he has come here and paid upfront for a whore. If you don’t go in there and fuck him, another woman will.”

Shae did not need to say another word. 

Sansa filled her lungs with the thick incense of exotic spices that lingered inside the brothel, then exhaled through pursed lips. “Will you wait for me?”

“I snuck you out of the Red Keep,” Shae said, proudly, “and I’ll sneak you right back in. Now go, m’lady.”

That time, Sansa didn’t have a choice. Her maid opened the door for her and gently nudged the small of her back. Two steps forward was all it took for Sansa to enter the dusky room, and then the door closed behind her. 

There was no one inside, as far as she could tell. The canopy bed appeared empty, and the table beside her was void of anything besides a single tallow candle and a dying flame. Upon the realization that she was alone, Sansa felt as equally disappointed as she felt relieved. 

_He must have left,_ she thought, sighing with her back pressed against the door. _He must have-_

“Come here.”

Every muscle in her body stiffened. The husky voice came from the far end of the room where the heaviest of the shadows fell, blinding her of the man who lurked in the darkness. 

When she felt all but paralyzed, the slurred voice said, “Take off your dress and come here.”

 _This is the only time I can ever have him,_ Sansa reminded herself, once she began to panic. _And I will not give Joffrey the pleasure of taking my maidenhead._

She peeled away from the door and took a couple steps forward, ensuring the flame from the candle would not illuminate her face. Once her eyes adjusted to the extreme dimness of the room, she could see him. It was an unmistakable outline — the figure of the man who lit a fire deep within her, the shadowy form of the only man she desired.

Sandor Clegane sat slumped in a chair in the corner of the room with his legs apart, left hand draped over the arm, while the other steadily moved up and down in his lap. 

Her eyes dropped to the floor upon observing another outline, a second figure, one as intimidating in size as he was, even from across the room in near blackness. The glimpse of the Hound’s manhood rose color to her cheeks, enticing her…thrilling her. 

Sansa’s hands found their way to the beaded belt, but she struggled to take it off. Not only did Shae tighten it much too snugly, but Sansa’s hands were trembling ever slightly, making it impossible to loosen the knot.

A sigh of impatience stung her ears. “Take the bloody thing off, girl. What are you, a maiden?”

The knot came loose at the instant. Sansa removed the belt and set it onto the bed beside her. Without ever lifting her gaze, she kept the momentum and slid the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders, allowing the thin silk to slip past her breasts until it became a shadowed tangle around her bare feet. 

He sighed again, but it was not with impatience. The sound made her squeeze her thighs together. How well could he see her? Surely not well enough to observe that her nipples were as stiff as the beads on the belt she removed, nor the rapid way her breasts rose and fell with her every anxious breath. Over the sound of her heartbeat drumming inside her ears, Sansa heard the Hound grunt. Upon lifting her eyes, she discovered that the hand in his lap was moving faster. A wave of arousal crashed over her and filled her lungs, almost suffocating her.

“Tonight is a big night,” he said in a throaty voice, stroking his cock all the while. Sansa watched him with her mouth parted open, unable to look away. “Would you like to know why?”

 _Oh gods, why is he speaking to me?_ she panicked once again. _Shae said he wouldn’t speak. If I talk, he might notice, drunk or not._

Remaining silent, she gave a conspicuous nod.

“Tonight is my last night in King’s Landing, thank the buggering gods.”

A sense of dread washed over her; she couldn’t refrain from blurting out, “What,” followed by quickly adding, “m’lord?”

“You do speak,” he chuckled drunkenly. “Now that I know that mouth of yours works, come wrap it around my cock.”

The words sent a chill down her spine - a pleasant one. She hesitated, until she remembered how on the morrow she would be made to wrap her mouth around another man’s cock, a man she’d never desire. 

_This is my only chance,_ she thought, but felt troubled by his words. _It’s his last night here...why is it his last night here?_

If she fretted about it any longer, the once in a lifetime moment would be ruined. Sansa minced her way towards him, unconsciously shivering once the braid she wore in her hair delicately swayed along her back. Sandor Clegane was watching her as she submerged herself deeper into the darkness, pleasuring himself to the sight of her nude body approaching. She could hear it, too, the tantalizing whisper of skin grazing against skin. There was the faintest glint in his eyes, visible with the light coming from that one candle. Not knowing what to do with her hands as she walked, Sansa clasped them behind her, and lowered her face once she stood in front of him. Even then she could just barely see him, but Sansa’s eyes relished in the sight of him all the same. She could see the deepest lines of his scars, and, most prominently, his protruding cock, no longer covered by his hand. 

Perhaps it was only because she was a maiden, but Sansa could not fathom how his girth, thicker around than her own wrist, would fit inside her mouth, let alone inside her sex.

 _It won’t,_ she thought, _not without pain. But a sweet pain it will be, a pain I’ll cherish, the only pain I’ll experience in King’s Landing that will also bring me joy._

A large, warm hand was suddenly fondling her breasts. A sound escaped her just as abruptly, something between a gasp and a moan. He made a sound, too, one far deeper that seemed to echo inside the room, and then said, “On your knees.”

Sansa observed his face, finding that his eyes were closed and his head was tilted against the back of the chair. It hurt to see him so unenthused, but she had to remember that she was a whore, not Sansa Stark (and, not to mention, he was thoroughly in his cups). So she stood there in front of him, naked as her nameday, while Sandor Clegane was none the wiser as to who it was he was commanding to pleasure him. 

Although she was still anxious, Sansa cracked a small smile and lowered herself onto her knees. 

If she did not act like a whore, he’d notice that, too. Unfortunately, Sansa’s knowledge of pleasing men was limited to what her maid gossipped to her the night before.

“Pretend like his cock is a lemon cake,” Shae had told her, with a kittenish smile, “but instead of biting into it, you’ll want to lick it up and down and suck it off like you want every last drop of lemony icing.” When Sansa’s eyes had grown wide, Shae had sweetly added, “It’s simpler than it sounds. As long as you don’t use your teeth, m’lady, you’ll please him.”

Sansa had wondered how her maid knew of such things, then again, Shae was several years older and not restricted from laying with whoever she so chose.

And, in that moment, neither was Sansa. _Tonight I’m a whore,_ she thought, liberated, _not Lady Sansa Stark, but Sandor Clegane’s whore._

Once sitting on her knees in between his legs, Sansa reached out with her right hand and took his cock. He grunted upon the touch, but kept his head tilted back, leaving her to study him without judgement. 

Not only was he thicker than her wrist, but he was just as hard, and smooth and warm — so warm. Sansa felt a pulsing vein underneath her thumb near the middle of his shaft and gingerly caressed it up and down. The Hound grunted again, much louder that time; Sansa welcomed his sounds of approval, feeling a surge of confidence after each one. Although she could not wrap her fingers fully around his girth, she closed her hand with gentle pressure and steadily moved it up and down, mimicking the way she had seen him stroke it a moment ago.

Listening to him moan as she worked his cock made her feel like a trained courtesan. Becoming as naughty as her maid, Sansa said, with a poor Kingslander accent, “Does m’lord like that?”

“Suck it and I’ll like it better,” he growled. 

Sansa stifled a laugh and shifted closer, feeling a dampness between her thighs that was not formed by sweat. In an effort not to sabotage her success by suddenly overthinking, Sansa stuck out her tongue and let the tip of it skim along his shaft, starting at the base and making her way towards the head. He stretched out his legs in response and moaned so gutturally she could feel the vibrations in her palm as she held his cock. Sansa licked it again, widening her tongue that time to have a better taste, and moaned along with him once the earthy, salty flavor made itself known.

And she wanted more — she needed it. It was as natural as breathing for her to open her mouth and engulf the head of his cock, though she could feel her jaw all but unhinging itself once she slid her mouth down. Sandor gave his grunt of approval and placed one heavy hand on the back of her head. Despite the encouragement, she didn’t get very far before he was jabbing the back of her throat. Shae had mentioned something about swallowing, but Sansa was sure if she tried to go any further she’d gag or choke and be seen for the maiden that she was. 

So instead, Sansa swiveled her hand around the bottom of his shaft while her mouth sucked on the upper half, varying the speed and pressure at which her tongue swirled in tandem. The taste of him was so pleasant, that Sansa felt herself salivating and was soon slurping his cock with every bow of her head. Sandor was at her mercy, issuing the most provocative of noises she had ever heard come from a man. And all the while, her arousal was blossoming much as it did when she would lay in her bedchamber at night and touch herself. Sansa wondered if she could reach her own climax simply by pleasuring him with her mouth alone.

“Look at you go,” the Hound rasped, petting the top of her head. “You’re sucking my cock so bloody well. I think it’s time that I fuck you, wouldn’t you agree, _little bird_?”

She stopped all at once. With his length still deep inside her mouth, Sansa slowly lifted her eyes and discovered the huge figure peering down at her. 

He snatched her up by her braid and brought her mouth an inch away from his. “Did you think you could fool me?”

The wine was thick on his breath, but the scent was not nearly as overbearing as the venom in his words. When she made to speak, her wet, swollen lips would not move. What could she say to him? Not a thing - not one that was innocent, that is. Sansa could only press her hands against his broad, heaving chest and await his next words.

“The little bird wants to be a whore, is that it?” His other hand gripped her ass with the same viciousness of his tone, pulling her into his lap in a straddle. She could hardly think, not with his slick cock jutting upward along the crease of her ass. “How long have you been coming here?”

“N- Never,” she stammered. 

“Never?” He laughed a long, rasping, humorless laugh. “You’re here right now, little bird.”

Her confidence fled. No longer was she a skilled whore, only a highborn maiden of six-and-ten. “That’s not what I meant...I only…”

“Seven bloody hells.” Sandor’s voice was heavy, not with anger, but with what sounded like sorrow. “Did Littlefinger do this to you? He made you a whore? Tell me and I’ll fucking kill him!”

“No!” she said at once. _This is going wrong, this is all going so very wrong._ “I came here to be your whore, Sandor,” she confessed. It was all she could say in her bewildered state. They shared a moment of silence, and then she added, “Before I’m Joffrey’s wife, I want to be your whore.”

“My whore,” he repeated, as if the words were foreign to his ears. Despite being so close to him, his expression was scarcely discernible in that incessant darkness.

Sansa placed her hands on his face, hoping to perceive his countenance that way. When her thumbs caressed either side of his cheeks, the right coarse with stubble and the left coarse with scars, his cock twitched against her ass, and then the space between them closed. 

He was kissing her, really, truly kissing her, but it was unlike any kiss Sansa had ever imagined. It was rough and hungry and, truth be told, a bit sloppy. It occurred to her then, as their lips gradually found a rhythm and their tongues made a dance of it, that perhaps this was his first kiss. _It is,_ she knew, whimpering each time his teeth grazed her bottom lip. Sansa could not fathom there ever being an embrace quite so perfect, nor one that intrigued the grown woman in her, or, more aptly, the whore.

The taste of wine lingered on her tongue after he pulled away. “You’re not going to be that blonde twat’s wife,” he said in one sharp breath. “I’m taking you on the morrow.”

“Taking me?” Her words were almost unintelligible, more puff than it was speech. “You’d take me with you?”

“I was always going to take you with me.”

If it was only a dream, Sansa hoped she’d never wake. Her lust for Sandor Clegane was unabating but coalesced into something more profound just then. She leaned in and kissed him again, slower and deeper, matching the other’s cadence the moment it began. She didn’t need Shae’s advice, nor anyone’s for that matter. Her arms found their way around his neck while his wrapped around her waist, and her body seamlessly began to grind on top of him. His cock, as rigid as it was warm, teased her ass with every undulation, and their kisses, growing ever more demanding , reflected the tension that it built.

Dauntless in every sense of the word, Sansa whispered against his lips, “Even if I’m never to be Joffrey’s wife, I still want to be your whore.”

Sandor grabbed her braid and yanked down, skimming the beating pulse in her throat with his teeth. “Say that again, girl.”

The hyperextension of her neck made it difficult to speak, but the words fell from her lips all the same. “Sandor, I want to be your whore.”

The force pulling her braid disappeared. “If you’re my whore,” the Hound began, while seizing her waist with two strong hands, “then I’m going to fuck you like one.”

“Please,” she begged without shame. “Do whatever you want to me.”

The second the words left her, Sandor lifted her inches off his lap and guided her sex onto his cock, prodding open her chaste entrance. Only then did she discover how sopping wet she was, feeling the ease in which the head of his manhood carefully inserted itself inside her. Sansa grimaced and let out a sharp whimper, though the Hound was being far gentler with her than he would have been with a whore, she knew. As he continued to lower her onto him, she could feel the resistance once he was met with her maidenhead. It was painful, but no more painful than armored fists slamming into her belly. She had grown accustomed to pain over the years as a prisoner in King’s Landing, as if she were training for that very moment. 

Sansa dug her fingers into his shoulders, certain that her nails were piercing through his tunic, and held her breath as he claimed her. Sandor was as tense as she was, until he broke through that barrier. He then wasted no time pulling her down to make her ass sit flush against his thighs. 

He was inside her — all of him. She finally allowed herself to exhale, inhaling just as quickly once she felt her walls adjusting to his size. The discomfort was still present, but there was a pleasantness to it that urged her to gently rock her hips. 

The noises escaping Sandor Clegane were almost alarming. Some sounded pained, as if he was the one being impaled, while others sounded thoroughly relieved. The hands on her waist did nothing besides squeeze as she continued to grind on top. That is, until Sansa’s movements became more fluid and her pained whimpers turned into elongated moans.

That was when he took control. Sandor lifted her off him until she was void of his cock and then sat her right back down, all in one smooth, practiced motion. Up and down, again and again, Sansa submitted herself to whatever rhythm he desired. He started off slowly, almost painfully, then moved so quickly she thought her breasts would be sore the next morning from how exuberantly they bounced. The sensation of being filled, only to have it taken away drove her mad with carnal desire. She wanted him to bury himself inside her and allow her swivel her hips around and around. The emptiness she felt when he lifted her off him, no matter how fleeting it was, stimulated her to contract her walls around him, pleading for him to stay inside. 

And it was noted by the Hound. “Your little maiden cunt feels so bloody good on my cock, girl. So fucking tight and wet.” He leaned forward and planted vigorous kisses on her breasts until his mouth met her nipple. Sansa tossed her head back once he began to suck, feeling her sex respond by clinging onto him tighter, then let out a squeal once he pinched it with his teeth. The pressure was building, ballooning into something more prodigious than she thought possible, but she wasn’t ready to finish. Sansa couldn’t imagine ever being ready.

“Sandor, I want to be your whore,” she reminded him, threading her fingers through his hair. “Take me like a whore, not a maiden.”

He ripped her off him with urgency and stood from the chair, clutching her to his chest. “Very well then, little bird,” he rasped, before throwing her onto the bed. 

While laying flat on her back, attempting and failing to catch her breath, she listened to the soft sounds of his clothes piling onto the floor, followed by the sound of a latch opening. The patterned canopy above her became visible as the pale light trickled into the room. Sansa lifted her head and observed the open window, and the fully nude, massive man standing just beside it. At last she could see him — all of him. The sight of soft moonlight illuminating his build, a body chiseled and sculpted by the gods, prompted her to say, “Come here,” just as he had when she entered the room.

The Hound was looking down at his erect cock with his hands on his hips. His hair had fallen in front of his face, shielding his expression from her view, until he gradually lifted his head wearing a malevolent smirk.

“You’re my whore, girl,” he said darkly, “and you’ll get on your knees right here and suck your maiden’s blood off my cock.”

Years ago, the thought of tasting blood might have made her sick to her stomach, but not then. The command was as appetizing to her as if his manhood was a lemon cake. Sansa eagerly stepped off the bed and knelt down in front of him where the light was the brightest. No longer engulfed by shadows, she could admire his blood stained cock, every inch and vein, and all the dark hair that glistened wet at the base. The display was as frightful as it was beautiful, and Sansa placed the frightfully beautiful display into her mouth. 

The taste of fluid and blood and skin satisfied her palate unlike any known delicacy, intoxicated her unlike any vintage wine. She and the Hound moaned in unison as she bobbed her head back and forth, sucking his cock clean and twirling her tongue around so as not to miss a single thing. Sansa felt an impulse to look up at him as she did it, but once she locked eyes with the man whose manhood poked the back of her throat, she was being lifted and tossed onto the bed once again. 

He stood in front of her and pulled her down by her thighs until her ass rested on the edge of the bed. Sansa closed her eyes, bracing herself to be stretched wide open again, but then felt another sensation entirely. 

“Oh gods!” Sansa squealed, lifting her head to watch him run his tongue over her tender opening. As he licked and sucked her folds with the same eagerness she showed him, Sandor vocalized his satisfaction with resonant hums, incorporating vibrations along with the licks. Sansa fell back against the bed and covered her face with her hands, muffling her cries that would certainly be audible outside the window. It was all too much, but her thighs were being pried open by two muscled hands. There was nothing she could do but submit to being devoured by the Hound. Just when she thought she might lose herself, Sandor removed his mouth.

“Gods, look at this cunt.” Sandor firmly placed a palm over her folds. “Tell me it’s mine.”

Ravished and in a daze, she whispered, “It’s yours.”

He lifted his hand and spanked her sex. “Louder.”

“It’s yours!”

“What is?”

Sansa knew what he wanted her to say. And besides, it was too late for modesty. “My cunt,” she whimpered, the absence of him inside her becoming vastly irritating, “it’s yours, Sandor.”

The Hound spanked her once more, then hovered over her, placing his face just above hers. She was in the darkness again, veiled with his long hair that tickled her cheeks. His cock was so close, stabbing her in the firm area between her two openings. Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and spread open her legs as far apart as they would go, writhing underneath him as she grew fiercely impatient.

“I’ve never done that to a whore, little bird, but I needed to taste you.” The following kiss was sweet with blood. “Now turn around.”

Taking her by surprise once again, Sandor flipped her onto her stomach with her feet touching the floor and positioned himself behind her, sinking into her yearning warmth with one merciless thrust.

 _Then_ she became his whore. Her gasp and his moan created a harmonious combined sound, one that rang inside the room and out the unlatched window twice every second. Sandor Clegane was taking her, fucking her, claiming her with utter ruthlessness, and all she could think about was how immensely in love with him she was.

“Gods, look at this arse jiggle around my cock,” the Hound growled, never slowing his pace. “An arse like yours deserves to be fucked.”

His vulgar words were as pleasing to her ears as the wet gushing sounds that accompanied every thrust. Sandor’s groin beat into her with such force she felt as if she was being scourged; a fitting punishment for attempting to fool him in the first place. She wanted to say something crude back to him, but every time her lungs filled with air, her breath would be stolen upon the next savage impact. It was futile; Sansa was his whimpering submissive whore, muffling her cries of bittersweet pain and pleasure into the featherbed, and approaching her inexorable end. 

“Sandor!” she finally managed to scream, though what she wanted to say was, “Sandor, don’t stop fucking me, I’m about to come!” Her empty lungs wouldn’t allow it. Sansa clutched the sheets as she ascended closer, filling her palms with the perfumed linen, and then dug her face into the mattress as her pleasure met its peak. 

The Hound grabbed her braid again and pulled her face out of the bed. “No! I’ll hear your pretty song, little bird.”

She held nothing back and released every moan, whimper, cry, and “Sandor!” that desired to come out. By the end of it, her throat was parched, and her neck as sore as her sex would be on the morrow.

He tossed her back over like the whore she was in that moment and slipped his cock back inside, groping her breasts with his hands and using them to pull her down to meet every taxing thrust. Inebriated from her peak, Sansa could only lay there and watch him pummel her. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, as sweat dripped off his brow and soaked into her auburn curls. Sansa knew what was next, and quickly wrapped her weak legs around him so that he’d never consider pulling out. Sandor’s hands slid down from her breasts and took her waist, thrusting thrice more before spending himself inside her with sustained, hoarse moans. 

There had never been anything quite so lovely as that, watching his face become taut upon his release while feeling his seed join all the other fluids that spilled from her sex and soaked the sheets beneath them. 

She was spellbound, enraptured, and in love, above all else. 

Sandor did not remove his palpitating cock from her afterward, but instead fell on top of her with his mouth nestled just beside her ear. As she listened to his exhausted breaths become steady, Sansa felt herself drifting off to sleep. She took a deep breath in an effort to wake herself and managed the strength to lift her arms and wrap them around his neck. 

“Sandor,” she said, as gentle as the late night breeze sighing through the open window. “How will we leave on the morrow?”

“We’re not,” he exhaled, then lifted his face from the bed. The pleasure room was almost bright just then, upon the moon perfectly positioning itself within the frame of the window. Sandor Clegane looked down at her and virtuously said, “We’re leaving tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
>  **Connect with me on** [Tumblr!](https://thequeen--in--thenorth.tumblr.com/)


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